In spite of a rocky season, and a dismally slow back half, that was actually a pretty great season finale. Engaging and intense in all the right ways, and bringing together of all the show's best characters. In spite of an awkward landing (with rather an anticlimax to it) it was still an enjoyable way to send out the season all the same.

Finally, we get back to Rick, Michonne, and Carl. Even just with the small scene of Rick and Michonne sitting around the fire, and the next day their exchange on the train tracks, reminded me why they're my among my favorite characters and relationship on this show. In fact, if they did away with everyone except these three and Daryl and let it be a four-person show, I would be fine.

Of course, first things have to come to a head with Daryl's new group, who has it out for Rick. There was little build-up in terms of plot there (and maybe could've used a bit more) - but at the same time, it did satisfy the season-long arc that's been playing out for Rick. This, in particular, was highlighted by the flashback scenes to the prison. We see Hershel (reminding us how sorely he is still missed) slowly talking Rick around to leaving behind the hunting and running and taking up being a farmer. It was kind of a sad and beautiful transition.

What's more, it played into the episode's (and certainly Rick's) central theme - that of becoming a monster. Just as Hershel said, Carl follows the example of his dad; when Rick is a farmer, then Carl can be the same. But the more Rick is pushed back out into the unpleasant real world, the more of a monster he becomes - and the more Carl, by his own admission, is following the example.

I actually worry that they may have taken Rick a bit too far - ripping a man's throat out with your teeth is excessively gruesome. Granted, the episode did earn that bit of brutality; and we can't say the season hasn't been building toward it. No matter how hard he tries otherwise, Rick is pushed by this harsh new world to become a monstrosity himself.

Since Rick, Daryl, and Michonne are one, two, and three on my list of characters I Do Not Want To See Die (you hear that, show?) I was pretty tense throughout much of it - from the initial confrontation with Joe and his gang to their final arrival at Terminus. Prior to this, I don't believe there has yet been an episode ending out the season or mid-season that didn't kill at least one character - and I was terrified that one of my favorites was marked.

Also, that scene with Rick and Daryl outside the car the morning after? Seriously - just these four; their own show. I would be all over that.

As for the Terminus plotline, nothing terribly surprising happened. It was easily the only one weak point in an otherwise strong episode. As soon as Rick explained how to make the traps to Michonne and Carl at the top, I knew that meant Terminus itself was a trap. Which it was. And they were all shepherded into a train car where they've finally reunited with Glenn and Maggie and their new band - except nothing really happened there. Even the tiniest bit of information as to the motivations and intentions of these Terminus people would've been both welcome, and made for a better cliffhanger. As it stands, it was little bet...meh.

Being alone on any opinion can be hard. I've been in the situation in enough different contexts with so many topics to know many of my own limitations on this. It's why we oftentimes purposefully seek out others who agree with us. Because it's hard not to turn what is a subjective issue into a matter of "right" and "wrong." Because sometimes, when you're surrounded by everyone else who thinks otherwise, you may start to think you're crazy; you may start to think yourself unjustified. And that somehow, your opinion might be the wrong one - even though no such thing exists.

I've had enormous amounts of experience with this; and in the context of the entertainment industry, my reaction can vary pretty dramatically. Sometimes, when you're alone in your thinking, it can be hard not to become negative - overcompensate by claiming that everyone else around you is just crazy; enhance the negativity of it, turn it into a matter of superiority, claim that no one else has given it the same kind of in-depth analysis you have, otherwise they would certainly agree with you. It's not healthy, and it's not fair - but it's not always easy to follow the most rational path, especially the more spirited the opinion.

A lot of times I'm okay with it. Taken Frozen for example: with the exception of one or two encounters on the interwebs, every single person I've met has loved that movie. This cannot be overstated; all my online facebook friends, all my off-line real-world friends, my family, and pretty much every peripheral person I've encountered loves that movie. And I don't. In this context, I'm okay with it; in no small part because my emotional investment in the topic isn't all that great. I think it's a flawed narrative - but I also find it easy to accept that it's struck a chord with the populace that it didn't me.

Another good example for me is the second Super Mario Galaxy. A game I actually found to be quite a disappointment, especially given my love for its predecessor. Most everyone I've ever met who has played both will say the second is better - and it's certainly received more accolades come the end of the generation. I'm fine with that. Doesn't change my own relationship with the first game.

But that doesn't always prove to be the case for me. And while there are some ways I wish that it could always be this easy, in others, I don't think it's always the ideal path.

Take The Dark Knight. A film widely praised as one of the best comic book movies of all time - certainly one of the most loved of the last ten years; it received a ton of critical acclaim and fan adoration, and even a few not insignificant awards, to say nothing of its behemoth box office intake.

I love Batman Begins. It remains one of my favorite comic book movies ever; I love its execution, I love its themes, I love its characters, and I love Christian Bale in the title role. I was all primed to love The Dark Knight. I went to see it opening night, confident that I would love it just the same. That all those reviews of praise I read in the weeks leading up would fall in place with my own reaction.

Except...it didn't. I didn't like the film. And here's where things get hard for me: this is a film I wanted to like, a film that - by all I accounts - I should have liked. And didn't. Then pile on the fact that everyone around me loves it. And that's when things get hard.

It's in these contexts that it can be difficult not to fall back in the rut of calling the majority crazy, or claiming some kind of superiority; trying to analyze it for its flaws and then presume others are merely overlooking them for the sake of falling in with the crowd.

Which would, of course, be unfair to the majority. But it's a hard position not to fall back on emotionally, especially in a film that - to this day - I still don't entirely get. Even if you were to come here and explain to me why you love it, I still wouldn't get it; I mean, you love it. That's valid. I've learned to accept that. But I still don't get it. I saw the film four more times trying to get why people love it. And I still don't.

The Last of Us turned into this for me, as well. I love Naughty Dog - just for Uncharted alone. They're an accomplished developer that is quite singular in the industry when it comes to writing, characterization, and graphics. I wanted to play the game simply because of who was making it; I felt it should've been one that I loved. And when all the reviews praised it to the skies, I was even more hopeful.

Except I didn't love it. It's hard for me to say I even liked it - which comes in part because it's hard not to feel like my reaction to the game has, in large part, turned more into a reaction to the fandom. If I say I liked it, I feel like I'm only doing so to appeal to all those who loved it that want that love to be universal - and thereby trying to negate or invalidate the possibility that my opinion might lean more toward indifference. When you're in the minority on something big, it's hard not to let your opinion become reactionary.

I don't even want to say that I'll play it again and change my mind to loving it at some point, because that invalidates my initial reaction to the game. It's as though I'm saying, to appease the crowd, that I don't get it, and that I just need to keep forcing myself to experience it over and over again until I do - because loving it is the only valid reaction. When in truth, not loving it is okay. I'm okay that other people love it - but it's doubtful I'll ever love it myself. Even as the minority, it can be hard not to turn this into a matter of "right" and "wrong."

The reason why this topic comes to my mind is due to my recent experiences with Doctor Who. My attempted transition into fifth season was, to say the least, difficult. There are just so many factors working against me - not least of which being that it is, in every way, a brand new show. Watching the Stephen Moffat era inevitably requires accepting the fact that the show I learned to love came to its (very organic, natural) end. And this is a brand new show starting over.

I rushed into it - I'll admit that. And I can see it more in retrospect. I had a complete emotional meltdown watching the demise of the Tenth Doctor in The End of Time and then the next day, kept going on with the series; and I did so for one reason: I want to love the show. Specifically, I want my love of the show to transcend one character and one actor. I loved 10 and David Tennant, but I don't want those to be the sole defining reasons why I have ever invested in Doctor Who. Indeed, I loved quite a few key episodes before I loved the Tenth Doctor. So I had the momentum, and I thought I should keep going.

Unfortunately, the Moffat and Smith years just haven't worked for me. I got well into sixth season before I stopped. And I honestly can't decide if I'll ever go back and try them again; because on one hand, I am still somewhat hopeful that a few months away (and a few months letting myself mourn the end of 10) will give me a different perspective. But at the same time, it's hard not to feel like I'm only doing so to appease the majority that does love it, which in turn tends to invalidate my own opinion simply because it's the minority.

There are too many factors working against my liking of Matt Smith, no matter how I want to like him in the role - the most significant of which being: 10 is a really hard act to follow (speaking for me personally); I don't think the writing is doing him any favors (and Moffat has surrounded him with a cast of supremely annoying characters); and most importantly of all, I feel like every time I even bring up Matt Smith with a Who fan, it's inevitably replied with a, "Isn't he amazing in the role?"

It's likely due to the fact that, as the most current Doctor (since Capaldi hasn't really started yet) then he's most present in the minds of fans - which means that everyone has an opinion they're ready and willing to share; and everyone loves him. I didn't feel that same pressure with Eccleston or Tennant, and so was able to sincerely enjoy both iterations of the character on my own terms. And this isn't really helped by other factors - if, at any point during the 17 or so episodes I watched, Smith had clicked with me, then this would likely be a non-issue. But it never did. There was no moment I watched when I had any kind of, "Ah yes - he's the Doctor now" and I made any kind of connection. And so even when I try to say that I love him, it feels too much like I'm just saying I like him to make those that do like him happy.

And unfortunately, much of this applies to Moffat as well. The man works great on smaller scale - with some of my favorite series episodes being Girl in the Fireplace and The Empty Child/The Doctor Dances. But him taking over as showrunner has demonstrated a lot of his limitations - being that he lacks Davies' subtlety and talent with climaxes, and that the more ambitious he gets, the more convoluted the storytelling becomes. And I say this all knowing that a large portion of fans have loved the last three years of the show.

Even now, when I go online to seek out discussion of the last few seasons, I tend to hunt down others who also have struggled with or disliked the Moffat era - not to prove anyone wrong or right; but because it becomes a kind of emotional catharsis to know that others - no matter how few they may be - might share your opinions. It makes you feel like you're not crazy, especially when existing in the minority.

Of course, the sole purpose of my post isn't just to talk about my current difficulties with Doctor Who. Although I am still in a state of flux figuring out exactly where I want to go and what I want to do next. Is it worth trying all of fifth season again in a few months when I've been able to move on from the Davies' era? Even now, my own instincts tell me I'm not likely to enjoy it, no matter how long I wait.

What I would say all these situations have in common is the level of emotional investment I have in the subject at hand. I don't feel all that strongly about Frozen so I'm fine with being in the minority - and thereby, it's much easier to accept the contrasting opinions of so many others. But the Christopher Nolan Batman films or the different eras of Doctor Who? Suddenly, it becomes an emotionally charged topic. And even now, I can't always say definitively what's the right response or how to handle it. Which is probably a reflection of the discussion itself - that what it usually boils down to is applying "right" and "wrong" to a topic that can never have either.

Well, I take back what I said a few weeks ago; specifically in that this show needs more of an ensemble in order to make things interesting and drive the plot forward. Because as this episode demonstrates, you clearly need more than that.

It would probably help if we were getting more of what we saw last week - which was building upon season-long and pre-established elements. It finally brought to a head the potential clash of Carol and Tyreese over her killing Karen, as well as Lizzie's troubling persona. Instead, the show just keeps introducing more elements and more characters - all the while spinning its wheels on the path to Terminus.

Maybe it's because this is the first season of the show I've watched live, rather than all in one go on Netflix. But it's never felt slower. The past few episodes since the destruction of the prison has had so very little plot progression - with that promise of Terminus waiting at the end of the line for some time now; but the interim just hasn't proven engaging enough for me. Not enough has actually happened in terms of most character interaction for me to feel this was justified.

On the plus side, at least Terminus isn't something metaphorical, as I was starting to worry it might be; but I imagine it might still prove to be something of a lie, since the show has spent so much time building toward it, and it does feel too good to be true.

To be fair, this wasn't the worst - or slowest - episode we've gotten of the season. It was nice to finally see Glenn and Maggie reunite. I actually bought into the connection made between Glenn and Tara; I'm continuing to enjoy Michonne's good influence on Carl. And I thought there was a moderately interesting theme regarding how far you'll go for a single individual you may or may not know, especially when there are larger things at stake.

Daryl's situation was probably the hardest for me, in no small part because I don't entirely understand why he's staying with this group. When Joe offered him the chance to leave, I wondered why he didn't take it; Daryl has proven plenty of times in the past he can manage just fine on his own. And there's been nothing demonstrated that's of benefit to him staying. It felt a bit too much like convenience, so they could create conflict between him and another member of the group, and show us the twisted kind of rules and hierarchy they have going on.

Eugene's character proved a bit of a surprise. On one hand, I thought he was leaning a bit too much toward being a stereotype - a socially awkward nerdy guy who doesn't know how to talk to people and is smarter than everyone else around him. But I kind of liked that moment when he manipulated things so that they could successfully reunite with Glenn and Tara. Even if it demonstrated how foolish it was for the two of them to go through the tunnel what with a path around it being so easily found.

Even with all the deaths we've had recently, I do kind of worry the cast is getting too big. It's not only a matter of keeping track of everyone, but letting everyone have their moment; up until tonight, Rosita was a non-entity and she's a great example of someone who could be easily shed without anything lost. At which point, it's hard not to feel like the show is introducing red shirts for the sake of being red shirts.

I'm hoping the season finale makes all this build-up worth it. Given the alternative, I would've preferred Terminus - and reuniting of the ensemble - had been made two or three episodes ago, and was given the rest of the season to play out all the inevitably ensuing conflicts. But who knows - maybe I'll be surprised.

A lot of games incorporate time into their gaming, and a lot of games tackle the ending of the world in one way or another. There's a given (sometimes something of a hypothetical) time limit, or restrictions; or the story side of the narrative will say that you're racing against time to contest a villain or stop an impending calamity. While there have been varying degrees of success in these regards, I've encountered very few that attempted them on a scale the way that Lightning Returns did.

If there's one prevailing theme for the game, it's time. There's only 13 days before the world ends, and you feel every second of it counting down. What's more, the game finds different ways to incorporate the time mechanic across the board - certain areas will only be open depending on the time of day, or characters will only appear at a specific point during the day. Other games may tell you that you're racing against time - in this game, you actually are.

This is simultaneously both one of the game's strongest points as well as one of my biggest issues with it. And this will likely be a very personalized thing. I'm an extremely time-conscious person, to the point that I'm rarely not aware of the passage of time and my utilization of it throughout the day. It's truly almost a pathological thing for me, and there's very little I hate more than wasted time. And in a game where there's a clock counting down to every day's end - inching you closer to the world's own ending - then there's no greater commodity than time itself.

The game is built across four major areas and five main quests; and at the outset, you're only given the initial seven days before the end. It's only with the completion of the major quests - and as many side quests as you can muster - that you'll be granted (on a day by day basis) those last six days. Side quests themselves are very much the standard fare that you'll find in the genre - fetch quests, collection of items from defeating monsters, and the like. But combine the inherent tediousness with much of these quests, the game's frequency in not always explicating where and how to complete many of them, that a number will be time-restricted (according to appearance of character or access of location) and not only may you find yourself wandering around not knowing how to complete a task in an enormous waste of actual playtime, you may additionally be wasting the game's most valuable commodity.

The game does offer a chronostasis ability, which allows the temporary suspension of time - it's fueled by EP points (which are offered in turn at the defeat of each monster) which helps level out the pressure. But the fact still remains that the passage of time, for me, remained very much at the back of my mind through much of the game - to the point of not only being a detriment, but also a strong reminder as to why side questing in JRPGs is a large reason why I'm losing interest in the genre.

At the same time, you have to admire Square Enix for doing new things. And the time mechanics are clever ones; as the developers said prior to the release of the game, it's impossible to complete all side tasks. Which, I imagine, gives some extra enticement for those already looking for replayability. What's more, they've removed leveling and class systems altogether. Instead of receiving experience or crystarium points with the defeat of each foe, the player instead gains stat increases at the completion of each quest - side or main. While I wasn't a fan of this particular decision (I really missed the basic option to just level grind - and found many of the side quests tedious) I can appreciate that they were looking to do something different. And this, in turn, adds into the varying ways in which the developer was looking to make combat challenging beyond only stats. Another mark in this game's favor: unlike XIII-2, this game is actually hard, even on its easiest mode. EP abilities offer a variety of exciting options - both in and out of combat - with refill being made with the defeat of monsters; and even healing itself is restricted, with a limited capacity for carrying health potions and the only major spell for healing an EP ability itself. (This one in particular is even more difficult if you choose to bump up the difficulty.)

It's also hard not to admire the way they execute the ending of the world. The only other game I've ever played that made me feel it to the same degree was Mass Effect 3. What's more, this is a world in which no one ever ages and dies. Since the character of Caius successfully unleashed Chaos 500 years earlier (at the ending of the previous game) then time has come to a halt for the human race - no births, no natural deaths, no aging. And through ambient dialogue and many of the side quests themselves, you really do see the toll that it's taken on the human race - both collectively and on an individual level.

The story itself can be a bit hit and miss, but overall I would rate it with strong marks. I have obvious bias, but it's hard for me not to go excited by a game centered around one of my all-time favorite video game characters. All the major characters from the first two games make an appearance - and in spite of some melodramatic and somewhat cheesy sections (which I realize is part of the genre) I still got a big grin on my face at many of the reunions. I was genuinely glad to get to see Lightning interacting with the likes of Snow and Fang again. There's no better individual to serve as Lightning's guide than Hope, given their established relationship from the first game. And in its entirety, the story cuts down to the very core of who Lightning has always been, since we've known her at the outset of the first game, to which I found the handling and execution to be quite satisfying.

Inevitably, there was some confusion to overall narrative, and some murky motives which made the grander scheme a bit clear. A fair amount is straight forward - Lightning is the chosen savior for the god Bhunivelze to try to save as many souls for the new world before the final end of this one. As the game progresses, there are many hints that not everything is as straight forward as it seems - especially for Lightning, who's agreeing to go along with the process on the promise that she'll one day be reunited with Serah. Much of this is represented in the character of Lumina - a sort of trickster character that's lived at the edges of the world and manipulated many with questionable motives (and serves as one of the most pleasant surprises of the game). Though by game's end, the motives of others and what it was all trying to say became pretty unclear - but given my level of confusion with both of the first two game stories, I'm not necessarily surprised.

The combat is likely where it's going to be at for a lot of players, and it's hard not to admire the system set in place by Square Enix. Entirely a unique thing, it organically grew out of the ATB Paradigm system for a single-player approach. And given the level of customization, it's kind of staggering all that you can do with it on an individual level. Collection of new outfits, weapons, and abilities is very easily enabled by the game - and there are offerings to upgrade abilities in snazzy new ways that no doubt provides a depth that many hardcore players won't be able to resist playing around with. There truly are no limitations as to how you can pick and build your own individual schemata - all the more engaging once you start tackling the bigger bosses. Though the combat was somewhat tedious and repetitive at times, I still overall enjoyed the freedom given to me through the control I had in building my combat approaches.

It's not a perfect game - my biggest criticism being the tedious and sometimes unclear handling of the side quests (especially in conjunction with the time mechanics). And the final boss fight aggravated me to enormous degrees (much as the one in XIII-2 did). I have little patience for an encounter that may take me an hour and a half to get through, at which point I die anyway, and have to start all over again. But to be fair, that's hardly unusual for the series or genre. And with all the hoopla given last fall about sexualizing Lightning's character, while some of her outfits left something to be desired, it's hardly the worst I've ever seen when it comes to the treatment of women in the genre. Whatever else, she's still Lightning.

So I'm glad I played it all the same; and it's hard not to be excited that Square Enix built a trilogy that not only has a sister relationship at its core, but also finished out the journey with my favorite character at the center of it. So to Final Fantasy XIII I say it's been a genuine pleasure to play you. And no matter what, as far as I'm concerned, Lightning will always be one of the greats.

It's been weird looking back at the game Final Fantasy XIII. It's returned to recent discussion with the release of Lightning Returns - and I was glad that IGN did a retrospective defense of it. Not least of which because, in spite of everything, it's actually a pretty great game. And one thing that's surprised me has been to look back and remember how much it was criticized for its linearity - in no small part because I think its linearity was one of the reasons why I enjoyed it so much.

In fact, I would even go so far as to say it's a reason why it would stand as an exception for me among recent JRPGs, which I've discussed losing my love for. I realize that it's a valid criticism of the game - but it needs to come with it an addendum: it's a criticism because a strictly linear experience itself is not normally to be found in RPGs. Some might argue that it goes against what an RPG is fundamentally about. At the same time, I would say it's important to remember that linearity itself is not a bad thing.

I rarely do well with open-world games - and the more open, the less likely I am to get into it. At the very base, I need structure. It's one of many reasons why I have never managed to get into a Bethesda game (despite multiple attempts). If you just set me off in a large world with little-to-no guidance as to how to accomplish even my first task - thereby guiding me into this world (I'm looking at you Fallout 3) - then it'll probably never happen. And this isn't a matter of handholding; this is more a matter of me feeling overwhelmed when I'm thrown into a large world with little to-no-barriers as to story and world progression. Even a Souls game doesn't give you access to the entire gameworld from the start; even Dark Souls, with the ability to accidentally stumble into too-hard sections like New Londo Ruins or Valley of Drakes, still has a pretty clear progression to start you out in the easier areas of the game before unfurling the more challenging sections.

But one reason why I take issue with the criticism of calling a game linear and leaving it at that is because of the number of games I've played that are actually quite linear, and all the better for it. I love me some Uncharted, and even the much-loved The Last of Us is more or less the same - there's no exploration off the beaten path, unless you count walking into that secondary room in search of more ammo. This is about a guiding experience through the main narrative. And neither game or series would be made better by incorporating non-linearity. Truth be told, they would probably be worse - such an addition would reek of padding for the sake of padding.

Playing through Final Fantasy XIII-2 and Lightning Returns has actually made me appreciate even more the linearity of the first game - and in this case, I imagine I'm having the exact opposite reaction to others. Which isn't to say leaning more toward the open-world non-linearity is a bad thing - and in both games, I certainly see its appeal. But at the same, there was something kind of refreshing - and above all relaxing - about not having to worry over side questing and annoying fetch quests. Maybe it's because I'm rarely good at finding all the ins and outs and hidden clues and goodies and easter eggs of a game (unless it's made by BioWare). I loved the straightforward point A to point B structure of it. Never having to worry that I was going the wrong direction, or that the game was expecting me to find my way to the next storypoint without giving me any information whatsoever as to how to find the location or accomplish the task. I was given story, combat, and a strong sense of environment; and I immensely enjoyed the limiting package of it. So I would argue that having Final Fantasy XIII as a linear experience actually made it a better game.

Which probably goes backs to the basics of genre, as well as intention of the game. If I'm playing a traditional RPG, likely I'll be handed opportunity for a series of side quests, and the order in which I complete them is entirely optional (to say nothing of the happenstance nature of their collection). This is often more the case with JRPGs, as they don't tend to impose the same kind of (often story-determined) limitations that western RPGs do.

If I really get down to it, I'd probably say that my favorite of what's available is usually something that exists on the path in-between the linear and non-linear. Because while it doesn't always appeal to me, I get that others sincerely enjoy the open-world exploration, and the enormous amounts of freedom to go where you want and do everything in the order that you want. A good Zelda or Metroid has a large world that's gradually unveiled the further you explore in the game - there are specific limitations imposed on the player determined by the correct item collection, but once you reach a certain point in the game, the world is essentially your playground. This works in no small part because of the almost guiding hand it gives you, to hold much of it back from you, tantalizing with hidden areas and clues that won't become accessible until later. I like this method because it gives me a great deal of time to become adjusted to the world, and then once I'm comfortable, I can free-roam. Wind Waker and the Metroid Prime Trilogy are both excellent examples of this.

And plenty of western RPGs accomplish that balance, with no one doing it better than BioWare. In any given game, you'll know there's a large world - or galaxy - to explore, but that certain areas become available to you depending upon quests that are presented to you. Games may be sectioned off in meticulous fashion, but there's still a large degree to which you have the freedom to do things in your own order. In Dragon Age, collection of side quests becomes available in large quantities early in the game, to say nothing of the five major story campaigns; there may be barriers encouraging you to do some when more leveled up, but at the end of the day, you can approach it how you please.

More importantly, I'd say one of the most important factors having to do with linearity is the way it enables story progression. The more non-linear a game, in general, the less concerned it likely is with story. If you're playing a Grand Theft Auto or an Elder Scrolls, it's for the freedom of exploration, whereas story is secondary; an excuse. As opposed to an Uncharted or a Mass Effect - in which case, there have to be limitations depending upon the narrative being told. This is likely another big reason why I generally don't care as much for non-linear experiences.

And to be fair, it works somewhat in reverse: purely story-driven - and in a sense more strictly linear - games like Heavy Rain and The Walking Dead don't really appeal to me either.

So what about you? Do you prefer linearity or non-linearity? What do you think are the advantages of one over the other?